


A Spring Clean - Part One

by ladygrange



Series: Scotland '71 [1]
Category: Jimmy Page - Fandom, Led Zeppelin, classic rock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16351841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygrange/pseuds/ladygrange





	A Spring Clean - Part One

“Jimmy!” she calls, attempting to untangle a misbehaving pair of stockings. “Have you finished yet?”

  
She waits a beat but there’s no answer, likely he got distracted. But their train is due soon and she’s ready to get going. She abandons the laundry, shoves the clothing into a drawer, and goes in search of Jimmy. She finds him in his study, standing over a heap of books, hands on his hips and a look of deep concentration on his face.

  
“Still undecided?”

  
“Hmm?” He looks at her. “Oh, yes, important stuff, darling. Though I suppose we do have enough at the new house already.”

  
The new house. She reflects on how strange that sounds. Multiple residences are unfamiliar to her, especially since she’s grown so used to Pangbourne’s quirks and oddities. She smiles at him, thinking that it reflects the owner nicely. He cocks a brow.

  
“What’s funny?”

  
“Nothing,” she says, her smile deepening as she comes towards him. He steps aside so she can peruse the spines and titles. After she’s gotten a fair view she reaches for five she knows he likes best. “These should do just fine. We can always take the train back down if you need more.”

  
He receives the books with an amused expression. “Yes, and Scotland is just a few steps away, as you know.”

  
She kisses his bearded cheek. “I think you’ll be very satisfied, Mr. Page. You can take it out on me if you don’t.”

  
He gives her a once over but doesn’t say anything more as he places the selections in his leather bag. She crosses her arms at the size, not big enough for the week they’d be spending at Boleskine, and quickly shoves his hands away so that she can organize to heart’s content. She looks over her shoulder to find his gaze riveted on her, something thoughtful in his eyes.

  
“Look in the bedroom, my bag is on the bed. Your Wellies are there as well.”

  
He nods and pushes himself off the bookcase while she pulls the zipper closed. They meet at the front and Jimmy locks the door behind them. She thinks it a bit sad to leave Pangbourne alone for a time, although it has endured many extended absences before. She casts off that unexpected melancholy when Jimmy slings an arm around her as they settle in the car. He angles himself close to her, a smile forming on his lips while they journey to the train station.

  
“You know, when the house was designed, it was a lodge. Nothing extravagant at all,” he says. “But the view, the surroundings, and seclusion, that is where its treasure lies. Good for peace of mind.”

  
“Oh?” She arches a brow. “And here I thought you had some nefarious business to attend to.”

  
He shakes his head. “Nothing nefarious, darling. Although I wouldn’t be opposed.”

  
She smiles and turns to look out the window. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

  
Jimmy squeezes her shoulder and continues to provide detailed historical context for Boleskine, down to the architect’s firstborn. She’s not very surprised at his extensive knowledge, knowing his tendency for full immersion in a subject, including a comprehensive pronunciation of the Gaelic which she had long ago given up on. She tries her best to form distinct syllables of the name but her tongue won’t cooperate. They pull into the train station with Jimmy still trying to coax her.

  
“It’s not that challenging,” he says, sidling down the narrow cabin. “You’re sure you don’t have a speech impediment?”

  
She pulls the compartment open and gives him a disparaging look. “I think someone’s about to have an impediment and it’s not me.”

  
He chuckles and stows their baggage in the overhead bins. “Don’t worry. I’ll just do all the talking.”

  
She pats the seat beside her and he plops down, almost dragging her into his lap. She thinks their vacation is already working wonders as they pull away from the platform. It surrounds her, in the brisk April day and the comfort of Jimmy lacing his fingers over her waist as a form of a safety belt. They ride along in silence, both enjoying the steady forward momentum when something occurs to her.

  
“Jimmy,” she turns to find that his eyes were drooping and adjusts her voice to a whisper. “Did you happen to bring my camera?”

  
He grumbles a yes and pulls her head to his shoulder, nestling into the seat. She’s always been susceptible to trains, the motion coaxing her eyelids shut. Greenery blurs by, broken by blocks of housing but soon it transforms into sleep. Multiple stops go by and a couple of switches, but when they cross the Scottish border, they’re both inexplicably tired. Their last train arrives and she’s thankful that the good weather has held out, if only colder. That’s an afterthought once sleep claims her again. Too soon, she feels Jimmy’s hand jostling her, his voice clear and low in her ear, breaking through her dream.

  
“Darling,” he says. “Wake up. Look.”

  
She blinks and rubs the sleep from her eyes, admiring the view before her. The sun shines brightly out of the cloud cover onto stony peaks and valleys with crowds of sheep populating the grass. Yellow splashes of broom decorate the hills and grow close to the road. She presses her nose to the window to get a better view of the countryside racing by them. Jimmy rubs her back as she points out various favorite geological features. Forests break out around them and soon they are parallel to a great body of water which reflects a blurry, glinting image of the train.

  
“Loch Ness,” he says, tracing a finger where the water meets the bank. “We should arrive at Foyers soon.”

  
She nods absently, feeling sleepy again as his hand continues its careful journey. The compartment is warm, inviting, and Jimmy has worn her favorite jacket, the one that’s grown soft from many washings.

  
“They say it’s too dark for anyone to reach the bottom,” Jimmy says, drawing her attention back. “Except for Nessie, that is.”

  
She hums in response and turns away from the view to find him fingering the hemmed edge of her top, just rasping her skin with the calloused pads. He meets her eyes and lethargy becomes something else, heated and aware of his path to her jeans. Jimmy slides beneath the waistband and inches his face closer to hers, lips parted. They are almost thrown together with unexpected force when the train comes to a jarring halt, his hold on her the only thing preventing an injury.

  
He plants a kiss on her nose and they stand to stretch. Jimmy complains of a tingling foot at they exit the train but the atmosphere makes up for that. Gloom doesn’t quite describe how the sun illuminates the now darkened clouds, or the palpable wetness she can feel in the air. It’s a unique sort of ambiance, something she can’t put her finger on.

  
“There should be a nice fog from the loch if it rains hard,” Jimmy says cheerfully, guiding her to a waiting car. “We could go down one night, see if we spot anything…nefarious was it?”

  
She rolls her eyes at him and closes the car door behind them while Jimmy provides the address to the older gentlemen in the driver’s seat. He eyes them suspiciously but puts the car in gear anyway, ambling through narrow lanes toward their destination. They climb upwards and away from the small village and Jimmy bombards her with more factoids.

  
“…the only danger…well, not the only danger of such things, is that environmental concerns must be considered,” Jimmy says.

  
He’s been on the subject before, conservation and worries over the land, and normally she’s an active participant. But her attention is diverted by the roadside, causing her to whip her head around as they pass.

  
“Jimmy.” She points. “Look at those massive pigs.”

  
He gives her an odd look. “I didn’t know you had an interest in farm animals, darling.”

  
She waves him off. “We had pigs when I was growing up. Sheep as well, and a couple of horses.”

  
They’re both startled by the gruff interjection from the front seat. “You will no’ find anything of the like   
at the manor house.”

  
They exchange a quick glance before Jimmy responds. “Pardon?”

  
“Bad goings on at the Boleskine,” the driver says emphatically. “Nothin’ but the remains of a satanist, black magic, and evil. No living thing goes there anymore.”

  
She can feel Jimmy’s annoyance growing, a huff escaping him when the driver crosses himself. “Thank you for your concern,” Jimmy says tersely. “But I can assure you we’ll be fine.”

  
Jimmy doesn’t have time to educate the man further before the house comes into view. A white, simple structure in the shape of an E greets them. The driver offers a parting nod before they lug their bags to the gravel drive. Empty planters flank the porch, the only hint of a garden in sight. She makes a note to fix that and follows him around the side of the house. Darkened windows line the side of the house, then a slope where the yard looks out to the valley. Breathtaking, she thinks, the loch a glimmering blackness below.

  
“Lovely isn’t it,” Jimmy says, satisfaction in his voice. “Not too far away from civilization, but still a proper refuge.”

  
A calm settles over her as they stand there, and she decides they chose an ideal time to come freshen up the house. Soon the windows will be open, letting in the highland air, their belongings personalizing the home, something she feels is necessary.

  
“It’s beautiful,” she agrees. “More sparse than I thought, but it fits in an odd way.”

  
Jimmy agrees and leads them back around, taking time to stop and examine the exterior of the house along the way. She admires the way he stands before the pillars beside the front door, his attention to detail the precise moment for a photograph. She retrieves her camera and sets up the shot, Jimmy going on about the specific dimensions of the house to certain esoteric practices. His head swings around at her chuckle, a grumpy frown on his lips.

  
“I wasn’t ready, darling,” he protests. “Come on, take another.”

  
She pretends to consider his request. “Alright…look sharp now.”

  
A grim shadow falls under his eyes, wooly hair heightening the threatening quality and leaving his exposed skin unnaturally pale -- though his overturned lapel slightly dampens the effect. She clicks the image onto film, shuttering a few more while she can. When she lowers the camera Jimmy relaxes into a big grin.

  
“How was that?”

  
She hands the camera over. “Suitably brooding. I can send it to the paper if you like.”

  
He wraps an arm around her waist. “Now, now, darling. You shouldn’t joke about photographic evidence.   
Not after our adventures in Germany.”

  
She scowls at him playfully as they cross through the blue front doors. Dust circulates in the light falling through the space and their feet creak on wooden floors. The entrance hall runs horizontal and they look into what she thinks is the dining room. White sheets cover the furniture and dishes are stacked on top of the table.

  
“Eerie,” she observes. “No booby traps, correct?”

  
“Only one way to find out,” he says happily, closing the door behind them.

  
Jimmy is delighted with the space, pulling her by the wrist through each room and offering a piece of trivia for every square inch. She makes a habit of leaving all the lights on as they pass, not wanting to stumble over something during the night. Despite the aura, the movers have done a good job, boxes line the rooms, each one corresponding to its room. The repairs have been completed as well and she’s happy to see the house structurally sound; no broken windows or mysteriously unhinged doors. They pass through the lounge area, Jimmy’s excitement increasing until they make it to the kitchen. Thankfully, he’d arranged for the pantry and refrigerator to be stocked before their arrival.

  
“What do you think?” he asks, waving an arm around the place.

  
“Something was horribly burnt in here,” she says, scrunching her nose. “Surely this wasn’t a ritual space.”

  
“Could be that church,” he says, opening the fridge and examining its contents. At her nonplussed look, he continues. “You know, a kirk full of people were burnt here, Boleskine built on its remnants.”

  
She folds her arms and backs up a couple of steps. “I thought you were joking about that.”

  
He unscrews the cap on some orange juice and takes a healthy gulp straight from the jar. “No. In fact, there was also a death…in the master bedroom.”

  
“There is no way we’re sleeping in there.”

  
He sets the juice down and walks to her, cornering her against the counter. “I think you’re passing too much judgment on this house, darling. A complex history, even a tad of tragedy, that doesn’t mean-”  
The doorbell rings, a voice calling faintly from outside. She ducks from under him at the distraction.

  
“Would you get that?” she asks, smiling sweetly at him. “I am not to speak, after all.”  
He gives her a quick, citrus kiss and leaves to greet the visitor. At first, she begins sorting through a random box. But upon further thought, a plan takes shape in her mind. She slips through the kitchen and into a bedroom, the door giving way to cool, if only a little musty, darkness. She silently admonishes her heart rate for increasing when she hears him close the front door.

  
“That was a local,” he calls out. “Said there was mail for us in town. Imagine that…darling?”

  
She bites her lip to keep from laughing or otherwise giving her position away. Nerves skitter up her spine and she listens intently for him.

  
Her name grows impatient on his tongue, then stops altogether, then slowly and more confused as he tries to find her. She creeps closer to peek outside, sounds muffled on the carpet, and waits for the prime opportunity. Just as she hears his steps double back, she jumps from the bedroom and gives her best shriek. A shocked yelp escapes him but he recovers all too quickly.

  
“So we’re playing this game, then.” He comes towards her, that same look from the picture on his face. “You’ve gotten very brave lately. Perhaps we should do something about that.”

  
He barely gets the last word out before she darts away on quick feet that lead her back to the dining room. She hears him running after her, the chase sending a thrill of excitement through her. A hand grazes her back but she dashes around the table, pulling the chairs away just to throw him. He curses behind her and vows retribution which prompts her to laugh. An arm closes around her just as she passes the entryway, then another as she comes to a halt before the dead end of the hallway. His lips tease the shell of her ear, both of them breathing heavily.

  
“No escape,” he says, tightening his grip to emphasize the message. “You’re caught, my darling.”

  
She clutches the forearm at her chest and gives a test wiggle, but he has an iron grip on her and the smile at her cheek tells her he’s satisfied with that. He searches out a wet path down her neck, intentionally rubbing his beard in to tickle her, and then up again, nibbling at her earlobe. She sighs at the feeling and attempts to turn around in his embrace. Jimmy allows it, putting his palms against the wall behind her, effectively trapping her.

  
“Now,” he muses, eyes wandering down the line of her body. “What should your punishment be?”

  
“A kiss,” she suggests. “Anywhere of your choice.”

  
Jimmy gives a short laugh and leans in close, his nose almost touching hers. “Something tells me that won’t be severe enough, darling.”

  
His mouth takes hers lightly, without haste or bother, just the multiple deliveries between them. She reaches for his hair to deepen the contact and gets more than she bargained for. The kiss turns ferocious in his hands, which tilt her neck back for him. A rift of heat travels through her when he presses her harder against the wall. She’s compromised in this position, wanting more but without the better advantage. She fumbles for his zipper when, without warning, Jimmy breaks the kiss and clears his throat.

  
“I believe you had some organizing you wanted to do, yes?” he says conversationally, though his breathing hasn’t returned to normal, either. She tries to focus on his words rather than the unsatisfied desire pulsing through her. “I think you’ll find your work cut out for you in here.”

  
Here turns out to be the bedroom to their right, featuring an enormous bed with a small sitting area before it.

  
“Where should I start?” she asks, trailing her fingers over the carved frame of the bed.

  
“Go to that box, not that one, to the left. See what you find.”

  
Jimmy is content to laze in a nearby chair, large enough for three other people and upholstered in dark tartan, as she opens the box. The corner of his mouth perks up when she holds the first item. Restraints. Some cloth and others heavy duty, clanking when she pulls them out.

  
“I suppose this would be a suitable punishment?” she asks, dangling the toys before her eyes.

  
He waves a hand, signaling her to continue, though he’s leaning forward in anticipation. Jimmy had seemingly thought of everything, she thinks, as she rummages through the contents. Blindfolds, lubricant, slender vibrators and more squat plugs, each item stowed carefully in a bag or smaller box. She eventually makes it to a tiny, black velvet bag.

  
“Those,” he says, voice more stern this time as she retrieves the clamps. The chain is cold in her hand, the grips on either end unforgiving. “Bring them here. The black ties as well.”

  
She stands before him and he places the items on the side table then stands. His look is formal, she notices, as though he’s revising a plan. Waiting for his direction heightens her awareness, goosebumps breaking out on her arms. The plan settles and his eyes snap to hers.

  
“Undress for me,” Jimmy commands.

  
He watches her like a hawk, eyes circling down as she removes her bra. Her jeans and underwear go next and end in a neat fold beside her blouse, then shoes and socks, all to the rapt silence in the room. She straightens her torso, feeling a quiver in her abdomen as he steps closer. Jimmy skims her collarbone, dotting kisses along her shoulder and bringing her hands smoothly behind her back. The position juts out her chest but instead of directing his attention there, Jimmy quickly binds her wrists in a firm restraint. Her breaths come heavy at the feeling of being immobilized this way, and even heavier when he cups her breast in his hand.

  
“You’re going to obey me, aren’t you?” he asks, thumbing her nipple into a swollen point.   
“And if I don’t?” she returns archly, subtly trying to push herself harder into his hand. Jimmy responds by switching to her other breast, pinching hard this time.

  
A slow smile curves his lips. “I think you know. Or you short term memory must be failing you.”

  
“I don’t think that’s it…” she trails off.

  
She’s trying not to get distracted, but he’s put his mouth at her neck, sucking in time with the fingers flicking her nipple. She unconsciously rocks her hips when he releases her but Jimmy has turned away briefly for the clamps. Her eyes squeeze shut at the hard bite around her tender flesh, almost unbearably sensitized and sending a trudging pulse between her thighs. Jimmy finishes the task and gives the chain a light tug, snapping her eyes open.

  
“Get on your knees, darling, and open your mouth.”

  
It’s difficult to manage with her arms bound, she expects that, but she arranges herself like he instructed and waits. Jimmy removes his clothes quickly and grips his length, positioning the head on her tongue. She licks just enough to wet the tip, swirling lightly and forgetting the dense pressure on her nipples when he groans softly. She draws her tongue over him repeatedly, until he’s leaking and drawing shaky breaths. Jimmy breaks the torturous rhythm, tangling his hands in her hair and pulling her completely down. A choked whine escapes her at the motion and her eyes angle upward.

  
In no time, she realizes why he chose this position. When Jimmy guides her towards him, the chain between her breasts swings, pulling at her nipples and creating intense flashes of pleasure. She can’t touch herself either, the ache between her legs aggravated even as he approaches his climax. She moans around him, impatient for relief when she feels it, warm fluid over her tongue and one long, throaty groan. His hands tighten then relax as he removes himself slowly and helps her stand. A thumb rubs at her lips, spreading liquid around them. Jimmy leans in, close enough for a kiss, but instead, he pulls at the chain again, drawing a gasp from her.

  
“I’m going to release your hands,” Jimmy says. “But you may not touch yourself.”

  
She nods, more than willing to have him touch her. Her wrists free, bearing only slight marks from the fabric, she looks at him hopefully. Jimmy cups her shoulders and smiles faintly, an expression that says she might’ve underestimated his demand. He sits back in the chair and motions her to straddle him, her knees sinking into the cushion.

  
“Put your hands here,” he says, patting the winged sides of the seat. “Hold yourself up a bit.”

  
He massages the crease of her thigh and contemplates her still clamped nipples. Her body twitches involuntarily when his hand travel to her folds, her clit hard and slippery under his deft fingers. With just the slightest touch, his lips brush a tender peak, eliciting a cry. His hand rubs her back and his voice comes velvet soft.  
“Not yet, darling,” he says, tracing slow circles around her clit. “Tell me…who built this house. Who was the architect?”

  
Her eyes widen in confusion and her hips bear down on his fingers. But Jimmy only lessens the pressure, intent on her answer.

  
“I’m not going to let you come unless you answer correctly,” he says with a small smile.

  
She shakes her head. “Jimmy, I can’t -”

  
He pulls at the chain harder this time and she bites her lip.

  
“Fraser,” she stutters out. “Something Fraser. A Colonel, I think.”

  
He rewards her by sliding two fingers inside her. Her peak comes dangerously close this way and Jimmy knows it. He continues until she tightens around him then stops.

  
“Very good,” he says, ignoring her mutinous expression. “And what was the original name of the house?”

  
His tone is playful and his touch practiced, the combination both maddening and exciting. She begins to suspect that he had this in mind the whole time and wishes she’d taken notes. Jimmy looks at her expectantly, set on the game as his thumb rubs around her clit.

  
“The Manor of Boleskine,” she says but backtracks at his raised eyebrows. Her composure weakens and she snaps at him. “You are such a bastard.”

  
He only laughs heartily. “It’s Abertarff. The Manor of Boleskine and Abertarff. You were on the right track.”

  
She’s not amused, her orgasm nearly there but withheld by what she decides is a ridiculous quiz. Jimmy reads her face and curls his fingers inside her. She wants to touch him and almost does but he clucks his tongue.

  
“Did I not tell you to be still?”

  
She manages to nod and keep herself steady above him with shaky arms. Jimmy resumes the circles and moves his fingers at her spot until she’s dripping around him, close enough that her eyes slide shut. Then he stops. She releases a frustrated breath and glances down at his shaft, feeling empty without him inside her, and gives Jimmy a desperate look. He remains motionless until she’s safely removed from orgasm, the only sign of his own need in the tight grip he has on her.

  
“One more,” he promises. “Tell me. What does Foyers mean in the Gaelic?”  
She groans but searches her mind anyway in the vain hope that the answer is waiting. Her gaze turns panicked when Jimmy’s fingers press hard into her spot and she clenches around him. Her mouth falls open without the answer, instead a needy cry that he finally gives into.

  
“Look at me,” he says firmly.

  
She meets his green eyes and he brings her down, filling her slowly until the stretch is unbearable, his eyelids growing heavy. The pace is agonizing, non-existent by the time he’s fully seated. A dizzy pleasure fills her chest and combines with the tender throb at her nipples. Jimmy reaches between them for the clamps and she nearly whines as he releases one. She sucks the sound back in when he removes it, the tip searing with the returning surge of blood. She whimpers but then his tongue is there, laving warmth over the abused area. He places a gentle kiss before releasing the other clamp. She shudders at the sting but the rush of pain melds with the fullness of him inside her and his hot mouth engulfing the skin, making her rock her hips against him. Jimmy catches the thick strands of hair falling in her eyes, hands framing her face, his voice a whisper.

  
“Does that feel good, my darling?”

  
Her eyebrows are furrowed and her fingers dig into the sides of the chair. When he thrusts upward unexpectedly, her head falls to his shoulder. An emphatic yes that she’s incapable of verbalizing. She doesn’t have to. Jimmy’s even thrusts deliver relief that comes to a heady finish. Her muscles contract over and over until every last ounce of energy is given over to his arms. She braces herself at his shoulders, knowing that he’s close, and deliberately meets him. His rhythm grows inconsistent with urgency and his grip on her tightens. He’s as deep as he can go, and still, it doesn’t seem to satisfy, his vigorous movements verge on bruising. He arches up against her until they’re pressed together and lets out a stunted groan at her neck.

  
They fall into each other, chests struggling and breaths in opposition. But she’s always liked the aftermath. The dull bliss that replaces frenzy and the air they trade back and forth. It almost coaxes her into sleep until she drags herself out of his embrace and stands up.

  
Jimmy catches her wrist. “Where are you going?”

  
“Blanket,” she explains, covering her mouth for a yawn.

  
He watches her with a drowsy, contented expression as she wraps a light afghan around her shoulders and saunters back to him. Jimmy receives her with open arms and tugs the material to cover both of them. Once they settle into the most comfortable arrangement of limbs, she realizes how tired she’s become from the long journey and excitement of the day.

  
“We should get one of these chairs at the house,” Jimmy says absently. “Quite versatile.”

  
She hums in agreement. “This print would look lovely with your plaid pants. A true meeting of the textiles.”

  
“Exactly,” he agrees, nodding. “The envy of all.”

  
She chuckles against him and sifts her fingers along his chest. “Maybe when things are settled here I can see about some upholstery work.”

  
“In the meantime, how about Urquhart Castle tomorrow?” he suggests. “It’s across the loch, not too far down. Maybe the falls as well?”

  
She looks at him, confused. “You want to do that. Really?”

  
He narrows his eyes and pulls her head back down, stroking her hair. “I didn’t think you’d want to be cooped up all day. That’s all.”

  
She grins and kisses his neck. “Aren’t you opposed to…how did you put it? ‘Rampant tourism and excessive exploitation of the land?’”

  
“Being in the heart of an amusement park brings out my frustration, darling. That’s beside the point. This time, you won’t force an endless supply of turkey legs on me.” He pauses for a second. “If you agree now, I won’t pester you about it tomorrow and you can do as much uninterrupted sorting as you want.”

  
“Alright.” She concedes easily and relaxes into him. “You have a deal.”


End file.
